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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
These are the ramblings that a doped up insomniac typed up at 4 a.m.

Not sure what to call this so I just called it a horror short story because thats what the rest of m stuff is, but its not really.

Submitted: December 14, 2007

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Submitted: December 14, 2007




By its very definition it is utterly hopeless.

Confinement of the womb gives way to confinement of the cradle which in turn parts for the confinement of school and parents. With life becoming ever more an effort filled crawl, you rest assured in your mind it will be different. But the closer you come to breaking free from the tyranny of education the more you realise there is no escape, after all, there is still the countless amount of time you have yet to spend in mundane jobs.

Your whole life you simply move from one cage to another, each seeming more spacious than the last, seemingly finally leading to freedom, yet this is just an illusion we allow ourselves to swallow. For no one person is truly free, yet the admittance to ourselves of this would destroy even the most positive of optimism and cease what little reason we have to left to live.

And so, we keep walking our life’s path believing that just around the bend there is finally a freedom from life’s golden cage, knowing full well the truth yet choosing to ignore it, instead looking straight forward into the coming sunset, praying it will rise again and bring with it a new world we hold in our dreams and in our hearts.

The truth in this, my friends, is live not in the rose-tinted world in which we choose to hide.

Life is hopeless, the world is dark and bleak, and in this stupor we live.

As we look on that same sunset we can rest assured in the knowledge tomorrow will not be better.

We can know we will feel the same heart ache and despair we felt today, and every other day we can recall.

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